Polis
by whybot
Summary: Life and times in the grand capital of Homeworld.
1. Fusion

**First Fanfiction since ever. Hopefully I'll be able to continue this thing so a lot of things here make sense.**

Fuse, and fuse, and fuse, until there was nothing left to fuse with.

Multiple gem fusions beyond eight were widely considered to be the ultimate form of taboo, which ultimately brought them to greater, and greater public curiosity. After all, if you wish to get people interested, tell them to never do something. And so, octahedric fusions and up became the talk of sub-intricates, basics, and other lower to mid class folk. Some were certain they've seen it, in crystaline houses worn smooth, flailing masses seen in windows that were supposed to be closed. Others thought the concept of it was impossible, but still, despite their supposed nonbelief, continued to talk, and talk, and talk about it. Sill others said they tried it, some stating that, while it was fun, they wouldn't ever do it again for reasons unheard of, others saying they barely made out of it without the memetic thoughts of other gems whispering into their ears.

In essence, nobody knew what was going on, and had trust in the Administrators to prevent this problem from spreading. They'd dealt with similar perversions, similar disgusting things that had no place in the Grand Society they would all be living in. Empathetic, Perverted, Misshapen, Diseased, and Uneducated folk were properly dealt with, and who could blame the Administrators? After all, they do such ignorant, dangerous things like octahedric fusions...

However, a select few, some dumb, some desperate, some depraved, felt like it was their only option.

One, an intricate-class artisan, smiled happily as she stood in the center of the room, practicing and working on her pirouette. After having fused with a single gem for the longest amount of time, she had found herself abandoned, however, she still heard and felt the slightest wisps of consciousness in her addled, effectively split in two mind. She had fused voraciously with others since then, sometimes for around seventy-two seconds, others for up to three months. Nothing, however, could scratch her itch. Nothing could bring her back to the feeling of being whole, and maybe, hopefully, a more desperate measure could fix her.

Another, a basic-class worker, flat nosed, dull eyed, and grinning stupidly, watched in the corner of the room at the nervous, worried, and feverishly practicing eight others. She calmly held a torch to the side of her head, making her red, rough, and unpolished skin glow a bright, white-yellow color. Frying her silicon-built mind, she felt calm and collected. Forever chasing the dragon, she figured this would be a satisfying enough high. Her body was to be dismantled soon, melted down to become part of a Kindergarten, so, why would she worry about her consciousness?

A few three were grouped together, two figures, one masculine, and the other female, huddled up and nuzzling each other close, desperate for warmth. If the two started to do the introductory steps of a dance, the third would stomp on whatever extremity was available to her. A former triptych themselves, the two had notably awful cases of post-fusion anxiety, the third happy to exploit. She was barking orders at the two, pointing to random gems in the nine pointed, ashen colored room that she demanded they fuse with, the two nodding their heads but wishing they had the ability to shake their heads. Forced fusions, and rampant fetishists with a habit, they were already an example of the depravity that the new Administrators wanted to stamp out. So, they treated this like if it was Rome's last days, one final burst of defiant, hedonistic pleasure before they're forced to be Scratched, melted down, or otherwise be made moot.

The other four, various rough-class semi-morons, weren't there for their intelligence, their good looks, or their personality. They were simply there to add bulk to the fusion. They'd probably end up with a case of PFA, and definitely end up forcibly shattered due to the crime of disobeying a direct order of health from the Intricate Administrators, but, however, their urge to follow orders stuck with them strongly. They were warming up themselves, roughly hewn, tribal figures made with a minimal amount of material dancing in jerky, awkward ways, a side-affect of having poorly molded joints, cheap, unpolished ball and sockets clicking as they formed a slowly rotating circle. (Or oval. Keeping proper formation was not their strength.) Sometimes, they'd eye the higher class gems, keeping a big, wide, plastic smile with misshapen teeth, eyes black as sin with eggshell-white dots focused on ideal targets. The submissives would avert their gaze, the Intricate would misstep to turn away, the Basic would simply stare back with milky, unfocused eyes, but the dominant refused to acknowledge them. One of them licked their lips.

The group would awkwardly stall, and waste time, until finally, the abuser grabbed the feminine gem by the hair, tugging on her golden glowing locks and slowly pulling her towards the basic-class. The basic class smiled wide, taking her hand and starting to forcibly lead her into a sort of waltz. One-and-two-and-three-and-a-four...

The steps were developed, rather cleverly done, especially for a basic class, the instigator assertive so that the partner had no choice but to follow in perfect step to avoid a dislocation or otherwise marring of beauty. Choosing between bent, useless arms and legs or an unwanted fusion, the feminine accepted the cheaply built worker.

Spurred on by the now mixing form, the semi-morons pulled the abusive Sub-intricate into their circle with plenty of protest. However, she was far from built for strength, and they could lift girders onto their shoulders. They'd continue their dance, a stray arm, leg, or torso always there to keep the dominant in the circle. Then, they began to pick, the Sub-Intricate's fragile crystalline structure steadily snapping apart with even the slightest bit of stress, hands taking away fingers, delicately pulled and modified additional structures peeling off with the slightest tug, engravings coming away as they continued their dance, their skin slowly becoming marbled with the amber-orange of the Intricate, their own arms steadily melding together, the circle becoming a wall of melded, half formed bodies, stained and streaked with a slowly growing splatter of orange. It was simple fusion, crude fusion, a rough melding and mashing together of bodies. No dance, no art, no romance, just simple cannibalism until the dominant was barely anything, the walls of flesh and limbs melting into each other, struggling to take form. A trunk-sized limb would sprout from one area, only to recede as the mass lifted itself with a spiralling, multicolored pillar, the colors bleeding together and steadily turning a sick, unhealthy looking black-brown.

The masculine gem, two paces from the door, watched as the taller form of the fused worker and feminine intricate dug its multiple limbs into the semi-solid, glistening blob, attempting to do the same waltz. It was almost comical, really, the masculine gem barely stifling an uncomfortable laugh as she watched the blob collapse on top of the more stable fusion. There was a lump in the middle of the blob, and then, steadily, the lump melted and spread throughout it. The Intricate, seeing beauty in the glossy, throbbing blob as the colors of the previous two shook through it like ripples in a pond, did one last dance, an old favorite, with simple steps, one she learned a long time ago when one didn't necessarily need complex and acrobatic steps to attract a partner. She thought about her other half as she danced and circled around the blob, until her foot was caught and she fell in, feeling the slightest bit of relief in her head as her consciousness joined seven desperate others.

As seven became eight, the masculine felt disgusted, looking towards the door. Hands shaking from the thought of being without her two thirds, she cradled herself as she went to the exit, before turning around to see the large, empty black void churning around the room, dark as night sky. She wondered if it would be comfortable. No need to manage her PFA, no need to find a new partner before she'd be considered unfit and be Cracked, there would be no more work in the foundry deep below the glittering, crystalline lights. She wouldn't need to worry about a great warrior being considered MIA in a backwoods planet. She wouldn't have to worry about war, or death, or training, or being an upright citizen or a Crystal sympathizer or...

She noticed she was already knee deep and getting deeper, watching as her green melded in with the black. Oh well, maybe it'd be nice if the other eight did the thinking for her.

And so, nine became one, the blob pulling and tugging at every angle to do something, to escape, but ultimately, it found its body and each mind was unwilling to cooperate with each other. It crawled up the walls, becoming a coat of dark, dripping paint in the confines in the small slum-house. Nine became one, and then one became nothing. Nine unwanted Gems, some only a month or so away from being considered unfit for being citizens, were forgotten. Workers were replaced, other Semi-Intricates were trained, and other Artists fell into the spotlight. Gem Society was stronger than before, and all it took to remove a few outliers was the act of telling people not to do something. An Intricate Artist smiled wide as she saw the news report on a screen by her desk. She wondered if this would mean an additional raise for herself, or potentially an official letter commending her efforts from one of the Precious gem's. She smiled herself sick until her desk beeped loudly, signifying that she hadn't been working for more than the allotted time. Opening up her pad again, she began working on another plan, another gimmick to further strengthen her society, and she couldn't have been happier doing so. She felt no sorrow for the gems that had been forced into such a bitter scenario, having no mouths, yet begging to be able to scream. She knew everything was going to be okay, the Intricate Administrators wouldn't dare ruin their perfect, organized, faceted society.

All was well, and all would be better.


	2. Rebellion Infographic I

The Propaganda Artist finally put away her pad, satisfied with her initial plotting out of the idea, an anti-cult campaign devised after a recent wave of Crystal Gem sympathy hit the populace. They could think freely, but sometimes it was nice to direct people to the truth. She'd likely have it done far before the shock and curiosity from the octohedric fusion panic wore it's welcome. However, constant working burnt the delicate silicon adding machines in her head that composed her 'mind', so she left her post to go back to her apartment, hoping to enjoy some leisure time, probably a bit of light chatting with the desirable sub-intricate that worked in the cubicle next to her over the domestic use pads. She could have the other at any time, most likely, but the Propagandist enjoyed letting things build up a bit. Fun had to be balanced by work, otherwise the fun just seems ill-gotten and not worthwhile. She knew that one had to suffer before being satisfied, one had to cry before being cheerful, and everything had a cost. She wondered about costs, and love, and other odd things as she walked in the hazy, radioactive light of the intentionally plutonium-contaminated crystals that acted as street lights. Soon, she'd arrive at the apartment complex, looking up at the multi-mile tall building, smiling to herself. Due to being a rather old gem, she had one of the first floors. She'd barely need to wait an hour to get there! A far cry from some of the hapless offworld gems, born on the Kindergartens of other planets, who often spent an entire night in the elevator, just to reach their own floor.

She smiled at how lucky she was the whole way up, satisfied with how things were going. She thought about the Basics and Semi-Morons. Part of her had pity, but at the same time, a sort of apathy and disgust. She didn't exactly care, but she cared enough to say, 'oh, those poor things!' in public. She wondered if that was okay, and figured that was the same feeling many, many other Intricates and Sub-Intricates like her had. It wasn't an awful, thought, feeling like they were ugly. They were! But then she wondered if they could really be criticized, considering they were born to be ugly. And, they were the backbone of society, a good seven ninths of it. (Her Propagandist Teacher once told her that society was like a mountain, 2/9ths on the top, 7/9ths supporting the top, and neither were of much use without the other!) She wondered if she should really dislike them. She was still thinking as she caught a piece of rebar to her forehead, her elevator only just opening.

Almost immediately, she was brought back to her polished, ovular gem form. Her assaulter clasped her in a roughly put together hand, going through the different doors and scanners, followed after by a similar rough and ramshackle group of about five or six. They'd hold the gem up to a scanner, going through until they finally found the proper positive match, the door sliding open from the smooth, marbled crystal wall, heading inside to her apartment as a dozen other Sub-Intricates, nervous around Basics by nature, peeked out from their rooms to see who was just denied access, pad open with security's number already dialed. The Basics disappeared into the apartment, some heading over to the entertainment, others looting the place for valuable items, trophies, and other things, while the Basic with the rebar held the Gem in her hand. She placed it on a seat, the Basic scooting a chair next to the seated gem, tapping the fine crystal dining table with her stick of rebar. When the other Gem finally re-entered her humanoid form, the Basic placed the rebar onto her neck. Any significant pressure would likely result in an injury that wouldn't be healed from just retreating back into a Gem. The Propagandist, shocked and a bit hurt, as well as uncertain of what was happening, simply asked, "What are you doing?"  
The Basic smiled in the most patronizing way one possibly could. "I don't expect you to know what I'm talking about, considering you're just a pathetic profiteer off of the oppression of MY people, but we're through, we're done simply working for a society that refuses to recognize us as its true backbone."  
The Sub-Intricate tilted her head. "But we do love you, more than anything. In fact, the 'Basics are the Backbones of Society' was part of a campaign we di-" That was met with extra pressure, making the Intricate choke and gag. "Shut it. Your industry is only there to make us satisfied and complacent. Compliments from a Propagandist make me feel sick. Sick! By destroying you, we kill another parasite that's been leeching off our hard work." She sighed as she saw that the Propagandist wasn't listening, too busy pawing at the rebar on her neck, sighing in relief as the pressure was removed. "Please... I didn't mean to harm you, I, I thought you loved to work, you were made to work!" The Basic stared at her in disbelief, before striking her across the cheek, driving her to the floor, muttering to herself as she helped with the looting, acquiring more than enough to help propagate her revolution. Finally, she knelt down near the Intricate, patting and stroking her head. The Sub-Intricate herself was crying, curled up, feeling violated. Crime never happened, it was something you'd barely even see in films! She thought legislation had removed criminals like these, leaving only minor offenders to be forced to step in line. And, oh dear, thievery, lack of complacency, this was simply too much for her! Soon, however, her racing thoughts became meek whispers as the Basic plunged the iron tip into her head, fracturing and destroying the silicon arrays, the Intricate's mind too damaged to automatically retreat into her smaller form. It was an ugly death, but a deserving one for parasites like her.  
As she went to open the door, she found it already opened, staring up at an Intricate that looked firmly down at her, a genuine, but worrying smile peering down at her, all teeth. "Sit, if you can."  
The Basic sat, the other Basics staring in paralyzed horror.  
The Intricate looked at the corpse by the chair, pointing to another Basic. "Move that, if you can." The Basic could, and she sat down next to her, a calm smile on her face, the Basic about to start sobbing. "So, what's all this about?" Her voice was soft and considerate. "We... We..." She tilted her head. "Oh, is this about leisure hours?" The first few tears poured down the Basic's cheek. "Yes." She replied, her confident voice a thin ghost of its former self. She didn't care about class struggles, or society, or anything like that anymore. She just wanted to get away from the Intricate, something about her made her blood run cold and her body move about like Pavlov's dogs. "How about two, no, three more for all of you, yes?" The Basic hugged her, sobbing into her shoulder as the Intricate held her tight. "You are the Backbone of Society, after all. You can afford to rest more." With that, the Basic left without much trouble, her revolution quelled, her comrades and herself satisfied, and glad they didn't end up Cracked. Another Sub-Intricate filled in the cubicle, and all was well. Revolution was obsolete, and all were singing the same tune. The dead didn't need to be mourned, satisfaction at her contribution to society was all the mourning needed. No one needed to be upset, however, Basic's and Semi-Morons were encouraged to work harder in their mills, their forges and their foundries, with former revolutionaries leading the pack and being the most productive of all.

All was well.

 **Infographic I: Know your Place!**

You may have noticed, that in our grand society, people look different, act different, and do different things to make everything as excellent as it can be!

This, is of course, plotted by our wonderful ruler Yellow Diamond. During the Mass Unification, she developed an ingenious idea; Why not make society run as smoothly as the military she had so masterfully controlled during her acquisition of brand new Gem territory and resources? So, she had plans set up for the next generation of gems. The first of this, now deemed 'Great Generation' were divided into different Ranks.

The Intricates were the cream of the crop, with totally unmodified Silicon Arrays, almost as intelligent as the Diamonds themselves! Of course, many lack the vigor that enables them to stay rational as they continue to learn over the years, so many are Cracked during the twilight years of their life. They are poets, artisans, scientists, researchers the sort that make the world bright and beautiful! If you see an Intricate, make sure to wave and give them a big smile, they've likely done something to make your life fantastic!

Sub-Intricates are a recent, but just as lovely addition to the Great Generation, since no Intricate deserves to work under another Intricate, and no Basic should have to be forced to put into work that they cannot comprehend. So, Sub-Intricates were developed, helping fruit the plans that the Intricates seeded. They are assistants, engineers, electricians, the people that bring practice to the Intricates theory.

The most common, but still unique class is the Basic. With additional sodium compounds made to slightly limit the Silicon Arrays, the Basic is given incredible focus and an industrious, simple attitude. Laid back, you can often find them singing songs as they work and develop at the instruction of the Sub-Intricates. They built the ground you're walking on, as well as every other little thing you use, so make sure to nod your head at the gangs of them running over to the next job!

And then, of course, are the sub-morons. They have little to no thoughts, they are, in essence, animals in Gem form, carefully restrained and managed for the heaviest lifting tasks. They are rescuers, steel plant workers, Kindergarten foremen, and the Footmen of the many skirmishes fought to provide you with the world you live in. No need to nod, they probably wouldn't understand anyways, but never forget that they do the jobs that'd likely result in you Cracking, or even Shattering!

Remember, you aren't in separate Ranks because you're better, or worse than anyone else. Every part of the pyramid is important, so always be in your place, do your work, and maintain a fitter, happier, healthier society.


End file.
